Quick: Name the American cities that have distinctive regional pizza styles. There's New York, of course, with its famous, foldable slice. The overstuffed casserole-style pizza from Chicago is almost as iconic as Wrigley Field. And the thin-crusted, delicately topped pies of California (and, originally, Naples) almost belong in a "Visit CA" ad campaign.
And of course, who could forget the pies of Trenton, New Jersey?
{crickets}
This is tomato pie, my friends.
Anyone? Well, anyone who's actually tried them certainly can't. For years I've been singing the praises of Trenton tomato pie, the local moniker for their crisp-edged, tomato-forward pizza, to anyone who'll listen. And if you're anything like my co-workers, your main reaction is befuddlement—with a mild hint of curiosity. That's how I came to bring a caravan of fellow Epicurious staffers with me on blind faith to De Lorenzo's Tomato Pies deep in the heart of central Jersey.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I had to do even more convincing. Because though Trenton tomato pie is a decades-old style that developed when the Trenton neighborhood of Chambersburg was still an enclave for Italian-Americans, and though De Lorenzo's original location was a charmingly ramshackle roadhouse with no bathroom (but a line out the door), the shiny new location is in a suburban shopping center, with the kind of salads that involve fresh figs and white balsamic.
But no matter. Because the pie is the same: Like any pie called "tomato" should be, it was dominated by, well, tomatoes: a generous topping of hand-crushed canned tomatoes, seasoned just with salt, in lieu of a layer of seasoned tomato sauce. Under the tomatoes, the sparse mozzarella topping melted directly onto the crust. And that crust? It was thin but had plenty of charred backbone, without the fragility and near-instant sogginess of a true Neapolitan pie.
Can pizza be minimalist and gluttonous at the same time?
Nothing about Trenton tomato pie makes sense. First of all, it's not the kind of focaccia-like tomato-topped bread you might have had from Italian bakeries. And it definitely isn't the Southern-style tomato pie, in which tomatoes, cheese, and mayonnaise are layered and baked into a pie crust (though my friend Sam Worley could tell you a thing or two about that remarkable dish). It isn't even like regular pizza. The tomatoes are on the cheese instead of under it. And the tomatoes dominate the cheese, making every bite more about freshness and savory acidity than merely clobbering you with richness.
And I haven't even gotten started on the toppings.
On this one: Hand-cut local pepperoni and pickled sweet peppers.
For true Trenton tomato pie, you need to have the experience of biting into quarter-sized coins of thick, hand-cut pepperoni that's been sizzled in the oven so thoroughly that they start to curl and crisp. You need to request a topping of sweet peppers, which arrive not raw or wilted as in most pies, but lightly pickled by a quick vinegar bath. Instead of slices of cooked sausage, you need hand-torn clumps of the Italian kind, applied raw to the pizza so that they exude their richness straight into the pizza as it cooks in the oven.
And you need the experience of picking up a slice, expecting it to sag in your hand but discovering that despite the toppings, it's so well-charred that it's stiff as a board. A slice, mind you, that isn't even triangle-shaped, but follows the random geometry of whoever slices up the pie. These irregular-sized pieces aren't just homespun—they make it delightfully difficult to track how many "real" slices of pizza you've eaten. And given that Trenton tomato pie is surprisingly easy to inhale, that is either a good thing or a bad thing.
A final drizzle of olive oil, and the steaming-hot pizza is ready to disappear.
But if you want those experiences without traveling to Trenton, you can make a surprisingly great version at home—thanks to my colleague Kat Sacks, who patiently tested countless pies to develop this DIY version. A few key points that make it (almost) as great as the original:
Be patient with your dough
Stretching the dough to Trenton levels of thinness takes time, especially if your dough is cold or you've kneaded it recently. If you're stretching the dough and it starts springing back, don't keep working it—let it rest, covered by a slightly damp kitchen towel, for 15-20 minutes, and then try again.
Crank your oven
If you're not relying on a cast-iron skillet or a KettleGrill to achieve a super-crispy crust, then you'll have to get it the old-fashioned way: On a pizza stone (or two stacked sheet pans) on the bottom rack in an oven that's been preheated to 500F for an hour.
Take it easy with the toppings
Remember, this pie is all about the tomatoes, but it's still not drenched in them—or any other topping, for that matter. Want to make sure to feed a crowd? There's a De Lorenzo's trick for that: Keep making more pizza.
